The Angst Parody to End All Angst Parodies
by Playground Lover
Summary: YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND! THE VASTLY INCOMPREHENSIBLE ENORMITY OF MY EPIC AMOUNTS OF GRIEF CAN ONLY BE EXPRESSED IN LARGE, HARD TO READ LETTERS! OH GOD, NO! AND LOTS OF EXCLAMATION POINTS! AND UNNECESSARY INTERSPERSIONS OF THE WORD NO! OH GOD, NO!
1. Much Yelling and a Pile of Excrement

_Disclaimer: I don't own any of the Harry Potter characters. Furthermore, I am very proud to say that I do not own any of the plot lines found within this parody. All has been derived from the vast reserves of abysmally written fanfiction on this site. (On that note, the originals are often even more hilarious than the parodies, so I suggest you read those, too.)_

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Harry Potter sat curled in a corner of his room, crying uncontrollably. He had been in that corner for six days now, not even moving to eat or use the bathroom. He was, in fact, sitting in a small, but nevertheless disgusting, pile of his own excrement and fluids.

Mr and Mrs Dursley stood outside his bedroom door, conferring in hushed voices.

"Let the boy rot in there, I say," Mr Dursley snarled.

"But, Vernon," whimpered Mrs Dursley. "What about those people from King's Cross? What will happen to us if he dies?"

Mr Dursley seemed to contemplate this for a moment. "Yes… well, I'll suppose we'll have to feed him periodically, then."

Mrs Dursley nodded.

Mr Dursley was sucking in a large amount of air through his nostrils in preparation to heave a superb sigh, when he suddenly stopped, gagging and spluttering. "What in blazes is that smell? It's positively nauseating!"

On the other side of the door, their presence as sudden as it was inexplicable, Remus Lupin and Nymphadora Tonks appeared. It took them quite some time to make themselves heard over Harry's melodramatic monologue. He was so lost in his own sorrow that he didn't seem to have noticed his two older friends at all.

"OH GOD! EVERYONE WHO HAS EVER DIED, CURRENTLY IS DYING, OR WILL DIE SOMETIME IN THE NEAR OR DISTANT FUTURE DID, DOES, AND WILL DO SO BECAUSE OF ME, MY ACCURSED EXISTENCE, AND MY OWN FOOLISH, FOOLISH ACTIONS! OH GOD, OH GOD, NO! WHY? EVERYONE I LOVE IS DOOMED TO DIE! THE ONLY WAY I COULD EVER POSSIBLY SAVE THEM IS _NOT_ BY ACQUIRING SOME SORT OF NEW-FOUND DETERMINATION TO FULFIL THE PROPHECY AND KILL VOLDEMORT. NO! I MUST ESCHEW ALL OF MY FRIENDS, EVERYONE WHO CARES ABOUT ME. ONLY THEN WILL THEY BE SAFE. AFTER ALL, IT IS NOT AS IF EVERYONE I LOVE IS DEEPLY IMMERSED IN THE FIGHT AGAINST VOLDEMORT AND THEREBY RISKING THEIR LIVES, ANYWAY! OH, MY DARK, DARK FATE! WHY, WHY, WHY ME? WHERE WILL I FIND THE WILL TO GO ON IN SUCH A GRIM AND TROUBLED WORLD? OH, WHY? WHY? NO, GOD, NO!"

"Harry!" Lupin screamed. "Harry are you alright?"

"WHAT? I… IS SOMEONE THERE? IT IS SO DIFFICULT TO SEE THROUGH THIS _VEIL _OF TEARS… LUPIN, IS THAT… NO! FLEE, FLEE! FLEE BEFORE THE CURSE OF MY EXISTENCE TOUCHES UPON YOUR SOUL, TOO! GOD, OH GOD, NO!" Harry turned his back upon his friends and continued to weep into the wall.

Lupin and Tonks exchanged bewildered stares. They instinctively stepped closer to comfort Harry, but the smell sent them flying back against the wall. After he regained his breath, Remus continued, "Um… Harry what are you talking about?"

"DEATH! I SPEAK OF DEATH AND THE INEVITABLY OF IT REACHING OUT AND WHISKING AWAY ANYONE WHO IS FOOLISH ENOUGH TO LOVE OR BEFRIEND ME!"

"Harry please stop speaking in capitals" Tonks pleaded. "its… unpleasant"

This only sent a fresh shower of tears gushing out of Harry's red, puffy eyes and spilling down his flushed, already tear-stained cheeks.

"Damnit Tonks why cant you be more tactful?" Remus whispered. "The boy is-"

But whatever Harry was, Tonks never found out, for at that moment, Harry's irrational gibbering took up again.

"NO! YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND! SURELY, YOU COULD NEVER BE EXPECTED TO UNDERSTAND THAT THE VASTLY INCOMPREHENSIBLE ENORMITY OF MY EPIC AMOUNTS OF GRIEF CAN ONLY BE EXPRESSED IN LARGE, HARD-TO-READ LETTERS! OH GOD, NO! AND LOTS OF EXCLAMATION POINTS! AND UNNECESSARY INTERSPERSIONS OF THE WORD 'NO!' OH! OH, OH… NO!" Harry sobbed. Then, composing himself somewhat with a few deep breaths, he continued: "However, I will deign to use capitals only at the appropriate times and places if you two agree to employ some punctuation… and apostrophes would be nice, too." He gave both of them an arch look before turning back to the wall.

"Alright, Harry. Fair enough," Lupin agreed. "Now, tell me, why are you being like this? Whatever could have happened in the week between our meeting at King's Cross and now? What could possibly have catapulted you so far out of character? Sobbing into a wall? Sitting in a pile of your filth? It's not like you, Harry. You're resilient! If you weren't, a certain well-known British woman would be stuck with one entirely depressing book, no money, and nothing to do with the rest of her life!" With that, Lupin took in one last gulp of air, held it in his lungs, and approached Harry. He grasped his shaking shoulder in a fatherly and reassuring way. Despite the unfortunate situation, this opportunity for Lupin to show some more of his admirable ability to care and console made him feel warm inside. But soon that warmth was swallowed up by the black void that occupied the greater part of his soul. Why had he never had children? A family and a home? He was so alone…

_Years ago, before any of this happened, before Lily and James died, before Lupin's life was turned upside down… Sirius and he had been trying for a baby. Every night (and sometimes morning, noon, and teatime, too) they tried, but they just couldn't do it._

_One day, they decided to go to an obstetrician at St. Mungo's. Surely, a doctor would be able to tell them what they were doing wrong. For some reason, it took them a long time to communicate their plight to the doctor._

"_Let me see if I understand correctly…" the short, bespectacled man finally said. His round, rosy face looked very odd, contorted as it was in an expression of the deepest seriousness. "You want me to discern why you two, er, gentlemen cannot conceive?"_

"_Yes, please, Doctor," Lupin sighed, eyes tired but radiant with new-found hope. "We want nothing more than a baby girl-"_

"_Boy," Sirius interrupted._

"_Child… to call our own," Lupin finished, smiling wearily._

_The doctor took a deep breath. "Um… is either one of you aware of exactly, um, how the process of conception works?"_

_Lupin and Sirius gave the doctor bemused stares._

"_Well," Sirius began slowly. "We usually start by taking off our clothes-"_

_The doctor cleared his throat loudly. "That's, er, not exactly what I meant… You see, it does, er, unfortunately take a bit more than two loving people to have a child." The doctor raised his eyebrows._

_Lupin and Sirius continued to stare at him blankly._

"_Um, it, er… it is necessary to have, um, the two opposite parts of the human, er, reproductive anatomy in order to…" The doctor gestured vaguely, smiled sympathetically._

"_I don't understand," Lupin frowned._

"_Dear Lord! Neither of you has a uterus, or, or… eggs! Or ovaries! Or fallopian tubes! Or a va-" The doctor, who was beginning to turn a bit red and thoroughly frighten the concerned couple, readjusted his spectacles and recomposed himself. "There's only one way to put the puzzle together, and in order to have a child a man and a woman must have sex. I'm terribly sorry, you're wonderful fellows – if a bit slow – but two men simply cannot conceive."_

_Lupin gasped. "What? No…"_

"_Have…" the doctor stumbled. "Have you considered adoption?"_

_Sirius stood up, his jaw set, an icy flame burning behind his eyes. "You, sir, are a quack! A fraud, a fool, and a complete and utter quack! Just see if we'll be patronizing you when Remus is pregnant. Come, dear." And with that, he took a quaking Lupin by the arms and led him out of the doctor's office._

_Later, at home, it took Sirius some time to convince his partner that all was not lost. "Don't cry, dear," he cooed, wiping the tears from Lupin's cheeks. "That doctor didn't know what he was talking about. Why, it was as if he'd never even heard of m-preg!"_

"_Of-of what?" Remus choked._

"_M-preg, my dear, I've read into the subject extensively."_

"_Where? I've never come across such a thing in any book."_

"_I'm sorry to say that I cannot reveal my source."_

_Lupin stared at him suspiciously._

"_Well, it's just that my accessing it defies all the principles of time and space…" Sirius whined. "You know, that whole physics bag." He waved his hand dismissively. "But I _can_ tell you that all the material was written by teenage girls, and I don't have to tell you how much they know about gay sex."_

"_Indeed." Lupin nodded solemnly._

"_Anyway, it _is_ entirely possible for two wizards to conceive. Apparently, it's unheard of in the Muggle world and even the magical community isn't exactly sure how it happens, but I think a wizard's ability to impregnate another man has something to do with the enormous strength of his supernatural sperm."_

_This seemed likely enough. That very night, Lupin and Sirius picked up their attempts at fatherhood with renewed fervour._

_Then the most tragic of all tragedies that could ever possibly happen, tragically did. Lily and James Potter were killed by Voldemort. Sirius went missing, causing Lupin to become sick with worry. The next time he was seen, he was standing in the ruins of a Muggle square, just having (supposedly) killed Peter Pettigrew and twelve others._

_Lupin couldn't even bring himself to be present at his lover's trial. He curled up in his sock drawer and cried for days. And when Sirius came back, more than a decade later, and proved himself innocent of all charges, how could they imagine bringing a child into the world then? With all the evilness and confusion and goings-on…_

Lupin wiped a single tear from his own eye and sighed. "Harry, I know how you feel. Sometimes, things happen in our lives that we have no control over, and we don't know-"

"NO!" Harry pushed Lupin's hand off his shoulder. "YOU DON'T GET IT! JUST GO AWAY! DON'T EVER COME BACK! AND DON'T LET ANYONE ELSE EVER COME BACK! EVER! GOD, OH GOD, NO! WHY, GOD?"

"Remus," Tonks whispered. "I think we should go…"

Lupin looked up at her and nodded sadly. With a crack, they were gone.

Harry sobbed louder because obviously, even though he told them to go and generally stop concerning themselves with his existence, they didn't care about him at all, or else they would have tried a bit harder to comfort him.

Hedwig screeched, bringing Harry out of the deep, dark hole of self-pity he was currently digging for himself.

"OH, HEDWIG! HEDWIG, HEDWIG, HEDWIG! HOW I WISH I COULD CARE FOR YOU… PET YOU, LOVE YOU, OR PERHAPS EVEN FEED YOU. ALAS, THAT CANNOT BE FOR IF VOLDEMORT OR ANY OF HIS FOLLOWERS SAW HOW MUCH YOU MEANT TO ME, DEATH WOULD BE THE ONLY REWARD THIS CRUEL WORLD WOULD EVER GRANT OUR LOVE!"

Hedwig promptly punctuated Harry's speech with a death rattle, keeled over, and was, to put it philosophically (and the author is beginning to feel very philosophical) no more.

Harry cried, which seems like the proper thing to put here, but it wasn't really anything very special.

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_Author's Note: Although it is shamelessly unprofessional to insert an author's note in any part of a story… Here I go! (After all, what is fanfiction other than literary masturbation? And am I allowed to use that word in a PG-13 story? Oh hell, I'll make it R just to be safe.) Anyway, unlike most parts of this story, Remus's awkwardly interposed flashback is not an exaggerated paraphrase of actual fanfiction writing. I made that up. (And I'm unjustifiably proud of the meagre amount of creativity it took to do so, too.) Remus's plight really does make me sad. And I don't think I'm alone in saying that, even though he is teetering on the edge that dangerous cliff called Old-Enough-to-Be-My-Father, I just want to take that man in my arms and pet him and hold him and tell him that everything is going to be all right, and that I will spend my life with him and have his babies, to hell with the consequences!_

_I would also like to note that, despite finding the concept of "m-preg" utterly ridiculous, I personally feel that gay sex is a very beautiful thing. I do not, to be honest, think very highly of pornography in general, but if I am going to watch/regard/read it, I prefer some good old man-on-man action. Also, I do not know a whole lot about sex changes, and I highly doubt that the insertion of ovaries, tubes, and a uterus is part of the whole operation, but it would be nice if it was because wanting to have a child and not being able to is probably one of the saddest things in the world. Other than having a child and not wanting it…_


	2. First Order of Business: Teen Angst

As soon as Lupin and Tonks appeared in the hall of 12 Grimmauld Place, Mrs Weasley descended upon them with a barrage of questions: "Did you see Harry? How is he? How are those Muggles treating him? How does he feel about coming to visit? Does he need any fudge? Or sweaters? Or a hug? _Seven children aren't nearly enough!_"

Lupin nodded vaguely, shook his head noncommittally, went to get a cup of tea. He was still preoccupied with thoughts of his own barren womb, and was in no fit state for conversation.

After a moment of awkward silence, Tonks gave a small shrug and replied, "Harry seems to have decided to become the youngest recluse in Wizarding history because, er, everyone he loves gets offed."

"But-but _I'm_ fully capable of replacing every parental figure he's ever had… aren't I?" Mrs Weasley stammered.

"I don't know," Tonks sighed. "Seems like that would take a whole lot of fudge."

Huddled together in a room two stories up, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny reeled in their Extendable Ears.

"What do they mean 'recluse'?" Ron demanded. "What kind of rubbish is that?"

Hermione sniffed sadly. "I think it means Harry's not coming back to us… He doesn't want to be responsible for any more death."

Ron turned very pale. "So… we'll never see him again?"

"I-I don't know," Hermione whispered. She and Ron began to cry, very softly at first and then with steadily increasing volume.

"Well, this is quite possibly the single most ri-fucking-diculous thing I've ever heard," Ginny said.

Ron and Hermione stared.

"Well, really, guys. Come _on_. As if the idea of Harry shutting himself off from the world wasn't absurd enough in _itself_, we had to deal with his hormones _all_ throughout fifth year… And now we've got to suffer through a _fanfiction _entirely dedicated to it? What the hell kind of foundation for a plot is _that_? The whole story's so _weak_, the very ground beneath our feet is crumbling," she said, pointing at the floor, which was indeed rapidly deteriorating.

The three exchanged one last fatalistic look before tumbling headlong three stories down, into the cellar.

As the three children reclined in the living room, nursing their wounds with packets of ice and Spell-O-Tape, a top-secret meeting of the Order of the Phoenix commenced in the kitchen.

"Ahem," Dumbledore cleared his throat, instantly ending the high-pitched, anxious hum that filled the small room. "This evening, we are to put all Order business aside – Voldemort, his Death Eaters, their plans for death and destruction – so that we may discuss the newest development in Harry Potter's displays of adolescent angst."

There was a shocked silence. Mrs Weasley blew her nose into her handkerchief. Lupin sighed into his tea. Snape tried to spoon his brains out through his ear without drawing any attention to himself.

"Um… actually, Dumbledore, sir," Kingsley Shacklebolt began. "Voldemort's minions are getting dangerously close to-"

"Teen angst, Shacklebolt," Dumbledore cut in decisively.

"But, sir," Shacklebolt persisted, laughing nervously. "Don't you think certain matters require our more urgent atten-"

"Throw this fool from the room!" Dumbledore cried.

"What?"

As Mundungus Fletcher and Mad-Eye Moody took Shacklebolt by either arm and expelled him from the kitchen, Dumbledore called after him: "You're on Harry Watch for a week starting now! How's that for urgent, you cheeky cabbage? Now," Dumbledore sniffed, regaining his usual calm with the help of a suspiciously powdered lemon drop. "It has come to my attention that young Harry has deemed it prudent to lock himself in his room, sit in a pool of his own faeces, and cry like a little girl…" Dumbledore paused to suck on his lemon drop thoughtfully. His eye twitched, then twinkled. "While this may seem a bit extreme to some, I'm unwaveringly convinced that it is all part of the natural grieving process, and I say we go with it."

Mrs Weasley went into a fit of hysterics. "What, what? We can't allow him to do this! He'll become depressed and-"

"Molly, chill. Have a lemon drop," Dumbledore offered.

Mrs Weasley declined. "I just think Harry's actions don't make the slightest bit of sense! Voldemort certainly already knows whom he loves and is close to."

Dumbledore turned slightly (twenty-six degrees, to be exact) so that Mrs Weasley was no longer in his line of vision. He ignored her and continued. "Through Magical Processes Too Complicated to Explain, Shacklebolt will keep a constant watch on Harry for the next seven days. Over the summer, Harry Watch duties will pass from Order member to Order member, and we'll deliberate the finer points of his histrionic ramblings weekly… It's a great plan, don't you think? Just the sort of quirky, irrational thing (suspiciously reeking of a plot-device) that you would expect of me?"

The Order members glanced at each other uncertainly.

Snape seemed to be the only one who was in any way pleased with the plan. "Headmaster?"

"Yes, Severus?"

"Am I to understand that while keeping watch, we're not to interfere in any way?" he asked innocently.

"Well, yes," Dumbledore smiled. "That is pretty much that gist of it…" He became suddenly very wary. "Why?"

"Oh, no reason, really… Only, if the boy kills himself…"

"Oh!" Molly cried. She took off yelling and sobbing uncontrollably and would by no means be consoled. Dumbledore was forced to call the meeting to an end.

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Author's Note: I want to clarify something. The plot (cough) for this story is not a mesh of various fanfictions. All of this horribleness spewed forth from _one _person,_ _it's all from_ one _fanfiction. All I have done is paraphrase, exaggerate, capitalize, and punctuate. Here is my point: In non-virtual life, I have serious inhibitions about hating people. I don't like war, yelling, guns, capital punishment, abortion, violence… I just want everybody to get along and care about one another and at least try to understand each other. But, the thing is, I also feel that people are really, really inexcusable and, in some cases, purposefully ignorant and aggravating, so I really have these vast and untapped reservoirs of hate deep within me. And the whole time I was reading the fanfiction that this parody spawned from, I was thinking, 'Dear Lord! What are you doing, Internet Person? Why have you written these things? What did grammar ever do to you? Why do you exist?' So, I've made a compromise with myself: It is completely okay to hate Internet people. And so, without further ado, a cathartic rant: I hate you, abysmally bad fanfiction writers. Some babies are so ugly that even their mothers are forced to see it, and so it is with your fanfiction. You must be intentionally sucking. You sick, sick sadists. I _hate_ you._


	3. A Letter and a Few Stabs at Subcultures

Ron and Hermione sat inappropriately close together on Ron's bed, reading over the letter from Harry that had just arrived for them. The parchment was dirty and torn in several places, and there was a small reddish-brown stain in one corner. This greatly alarmed them, until they finished reading the first paragraph.

_Dearest Sidekicks,_

_I went to particular pains to convey this missive to you, as Hedwig, my beloved aerial companion, expired four nights past – no doubt the curse touched upon her. I will never love another owl again. (You may stop reading now to spend a moment in silent contemplation, if you are so moved.) On a more practical note, I was obliged to use my creative powers in order devise a trap with which to capture a reasonably intelligent pigeon. That done, there lay before me the task of convincing it to carry this letter to you. The bird proved itself to be even more astute than I had originally thought, for it soon began to peck at me as if to say it understood._

_No doubt, the news of my seclusion has already reached you. Cry not, my courageous comrades. Devoid of my unfortunate presence – which will do no more than infect your souls with the curse of untimely death – you will live long and prosper. We have had many a good time together, but you _must_ learn to live without me. You must. I know it will be difficult at first, but remember that you still have each other._

_My deepest and most heartfelt love,_

_Your friend,_

_Harry_

_Postscriptum – I am sorry to say that you can never expect to hear from me again._

The letter had, in fact, been delivered by Kingsley Shacklebolt, who, after watching Harry's pathetic attempts to convince a poor, confused pigeon to deliver the letter, caught the pigeon, relieved it of its burden, and brought the letter to Ron and Hermione.

"Oh, whatever shall we do?" Hermione wailed, noting how convenient a moment this would be to cry onto Ron's shoulder. She poked herself in the eye a bit to produce more watering, then buried her face into Ron's chest with a superb shriek.

"Why, ahem, isn't Dumble-ack-dore _doing_ anything?" Ron demanded between hacking Hermione's hair out of his mouth.

"Oh, I don't know! We have learned in the past that his eccentric antics are often cunning strategies in disguise, but I find it hard to have any faith in him when I am faced with the possibility of never seeing my best friend again!" Hermione clutched onto Ron a little bit tighter.

"Yes… but, uh, Harry's right, in a way…" Ron's ears began to turn a deep maroon.

"Whatever do you mean?" Hermione asked, looking up. She batted her eyelashes rapidly to push out more tears.

"Well, we do still, er, have each other," Ron mumbled, staring at his shoe.

Just as they were beginning to deliberate whether or not it was morally sound to use the misfortune of a friend as an excuse to get some, Ginny walked in. "Hey, Ron, can I borrow your… Have you been making out? And crying?"

Ron silently handed Ginny the letter. The further her eyes moved down the page, the more her frown deepened. "Oh," she whispered. "That poor bird."

"We're never going to see Harry again!" Hermione cried.

"Oh, calm down," Ginny snorted. "He has to go to school, doesn't he?"

This had never occurred to Ron or Hermione. But yes, it was true. No school in the history of public or private education had ever deemed a sudden attack of depression a good excuse for truancy. Otherwise, no one would ever be forced to be within twenty feet of a Gothic kid ever again… Ron and Hermione paused when they hit on this last bit of information. Slow, careful smiles formed simultaneously on their faces. They began to form a plan…

They realised that they were veering a bit too far to the left of the point, and told the author she'd best take her writing somewhere else and check back in after and hour or two because they had some things to discuss.

"Okay," the author agreed. "But only if you promise to tell me all about it later."

"Oh sure," Hermione nodded. "Now… where did I put that book?"

"This is going to require reading?" Ron moaned.

"Fine, we'll just give it up then!" Hermione snapped back. "But next year, _you_ have to sit next to that annoying Hufflepuff in Charms with all that eyeliner on his face, pretending like he doesn't really want to talk to anyone, but staring at everybody and sporadically trying to start up conversations about things that he thinks are too obscure for you to possibly understand, but their really just ridiculously trite and absurd!"

Ron fell to the floor in the fetal position, covered his ears, and screamed.

Hermione leapt upon him, forced his hand from his ear and yelled, "And see if I do anything to help when he tries to get you to pet his spider!"

Meanwhile, in a small, dark room on Privet Drive…

"Eat the peas, boy!" Mrs Dursley shrieked as she tried to shove a spoonful of green mush into Harry's mouth.

"I'M IN TOO MUCH EMOTIONAL PAIN TO EVEN THINK ABOUT EATING, AUNT PETUNIA!"

Mrs Dursley clenched her teeth together and tried to abstain from pulling out either her or Harry's hair, or both. "If you don't eat, boy, you'll die."

"WHILE I AM DEEPLY AFFTECTED BY YOUR UNPRECEDENTED DISPLAY OF CONCERN, DEATH WOULD BE A WELCOME RESPITE FOR A SOUL SO TROUBLED AS MINE! ALSO, I DO NOT THINK THAT YOU SHOULD BE SHOWING THAT YOU CARE FOR ME IN ANY WAY BECAUSE…" Harry trailed off. He regarded his aunt's stern, angular countenance – the way her eyes bulged out of their sockets and her thin lips pressed together so tightly as to almost disappear. "AUNT PETUNIA! I AM SORRY THAT I NEVER TOLD YOU BEFORE… I AM A HORRIBLE NEPHEW, BUT I REALLY, REALLY DO LOVE YOU – PROFOUNDLY." His voice remained at an unreasonably high volume, but with an added dimension of tenderness. "AUNT PETUNIA, I PROFOUNDLY LOVE YOU. FURTHERMORE, I LOVE UNCLE VERNON! AND DUDLEY! OH, I ESPECIALLY LOVE DUDLEY! AND AUNT MARGE! GEE, SHE IS A GREAT KIND OF GAL! PLEASE TELL THEM ALL THAT I LOVE THEM! TELL EVERYONE! TELL EVERYONE THERE IS TO TELL HOW MUCH I LOVE MY WONDERFUL FAMILY AND THAT WILL BE FOOD ENOUGH FOR MY HUNGRY HEART!"

Mrs Dursley stared at her nephew for several minutes. She then stood up and slowly backed out of the room, closing the door behind her. Harry regarded the pea mush she had left behind. For the first time in many, many days, he smiled. And he suddenly felt able to stomach a little bit of food. He tasted the pea mush, and it was surprisingly good.

Then he remembered something… Something about the safety of his mother's sister's house. No harm could come to it. "OH! IS THERE NO JUSTICE IN THE WORLD? NO LITTLE SPARK OF LIGHT IN THE MURKY DARKNESS?" he cried with pea mush dribbling down his chin.

* * *

_Author's Note: I don't think that this story has any kind of overarching moral, but I'm pretty sure that this chapter has one. And this is it: Don't associate with angsty people. Angst is a contagious disease. If you're not careful, the urge to catalogue your woes, exaggerate your hardships, and express yourself in obscure and dramatic wording will sneak up on you. **EMO: Don't Play That Game.**_


	4. An Exciting Battle and a Nefarious Ploy

Early one August morn, a brown barn owl swooped low over Little Whinging. It stopped at a dark, curtained window on Privet Drive and gave it two smart raps with its beak. Quiet moaning and shuffling noises came from within. Suddenly, the curtain was thrown aside and the pale, greasy face of Harry Potter smacked against the glass. His wild, green eyes darted in all directions before finally coming to rest on the owl.

"Riddle," Harry croaked. His voice was now hoarse from alternate periods of yelling and disuse. "We meet again…"

The window slowly creaked open. The instant the owl entered, Harry was upon it.

"YOU CAN KILL MY PARENTS! YOU CAN EVEN KILL SIRIUS! BUT EVIL WILL NEVER PREVAIL!"

The owl shrieked and flapped and clawed, trying to deflect the unexpected attack.

"WHAT'S THAT YOU SAY? I AM NOT POWERFUL ENOUGH TO VANQUISH YOU SINGLE-HANDEDLY? HAHA! PERHAPS THAT IS TRUE, RIDDLE, BUT, AS YOU WILL SOON SEE, I AM _NOT_ ALONE! FOR MANY A DARK DAY AND NIGHT, YES, I WAS ALONE – HIDDEN AWAY IN SELF-INFLICTED SECLUSION, BUT THEY HAVE COME TO ME… THE MYSTERIOUS CREATURES THAT LURK IN THE SHADOWS AND COME TO LIFE ONLY WHEN THERE IS DIRE NEED FOR THEIR MILITARISTIC SERVICES! AND THEY HAVE BEFRIENDED ME AND SWORN TO HELP METHWART YOU WHEN THE DAY OF THE FINAL BATTLE COMETH! AND SO… YOU HATH COMETH, AND IT HATH COMETH… AND NOW, THEY WILL COMETH! _COME_, SHADOW CREATURES, MY FAITHFUL ALLIES, MY BROTHERS IN ARMS! PREPARE TO DIE, YOU INIQUITOUS FIEND!"

Harry looked expectantly at a broken light bulb, a ball of lint, and a recently fermented jar of pea mush. "FIGHT BY MY SIDE IN THIS, THE LAST OF BATTLES!" With that, he picked up his three allies and threw them at the bird, which, now free from Harry's manic clutches, wasted no time in escaping out the window, leaving a thick envelope behind.

"Foiled…" Harry muttered. "LOSE NOT HEART, BROTHERS. I AM CONVINCED THAT WE WILL BE SEEING OUR FRIEND, RIDDLE, AGAIN SOON! AND THEN, AND THEN… BUT WHAT IS THIS? A SECRET DOCUMENT THAT RIDDLE, IN HIS HASTE TO ESCAPE FROM OUR RIGHTEOUS WRATH, FORGOT TO TAKE WITH HIM?"

Harry lunged at it and tore the envelope open eagerly. "HARK TO ITS MESSAGE, MY BROTHERS! IT MAY DIVULGE TO US USEFUL SECRETSCONCERNING RIDDLE'S NEXT PLAN OF ATTACK!" Harry's eyes scanned the letter. "ADVANCED SPELLWORK BY MIRANDA GOSHAWK? MASTERING POTIONS BY ARSENIUS JIGGER? AN INTRODUCTION TO COMPLEX THEORIES OF TRANSFIG- DAMNIT! THIS MUST BE SOME SORT OF CODE! DOES ANYONE KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT DECRYPTION?"

For hours, Harry and Co. bent over the letter, attempting to crack the code. Finally, they were triumphant: "'LUCIUS, MEET ME AT THE DISCO WHERE WE WILL PROCURE SEVERAL KILOS OF HEROIN (BUT NOT BEFORE MANY HOURS OF CAREFREE DANCING) WITH WHICH TO TURN ALL OF HOGWARTS'S UPPER YEARS INTO OUR WILLING FOLLOWERS!' NO! BROTHERS, OUR PLANS HAVE CHANGED! WE MUST BOARD THE HOGWARTS EXPRESS AT PLATFORM NINE-AND-THREE-QUARTERS ON THE FIRST OF SEPTEMBER, NINE-HUNDRED HOURS, AND, UPON ARRIVING AT HOGWARTS, MAKE ALL DUE HASTE TO THE OFFICE OF HEADMASTER DUMBLEDORE TO WARN HIM OF THIS NEFARIOUS PLOY!"

And so, on the morning of September first, Harry snuck unseen onto the Hogwarts Express and locked himself in a deserted compartment. Inside, he laid all his allies out on the seat across from him. "WE MUST BE VERY DISCREET, MY BROTHERS. WE MUST EMPLOY ALL OUR STEALTH, FOR RIDDLE'S SECRET FOLLOWERS ARE SURELY ALL AROUND US!" Harry fell silent abruptly. His eyes narrowed and he cupped his hand around his ear. "Hark to the whispering voices beyond our chamber's door, my brothers!"

There was, indeed, the sound of many hushed and urgent voices floating in through the cracks of the door.

"That's got to be him in there."

"The door's stuck."

"Maybe it's locked... _Alohomora!_"

The door creaked open slowly. Harry jumped up, unsheathing his wand from his jeans pocket with a flourish.

Just outside the doorway, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny stood, regarding him with a mixture of shock, sadness, and disgust. Harry only flourished his wand some more.

"Harry," Hermione gasped. "It's… it's us. Ron and Ginny and Hermione. D-don't you _remember_ us?"

After a moment, Harry lowered his wand. He appeared lost in the deepest sort of contemplation. "Ron… Ginny… Hermione," he repeated slowly. Suddenly, a light flickered into life behind his eyes. "YES! THOSE NAMES HAVE UNLOCKED A DOOR IN MY MEMORY, BRUSHED ASIDE THICK LAYERS OF COBWEBS IN THE SHADOWY RECESSES OF MY MIND! AND ANOTHER THOUGHT COMES TO ME NOW… SO VAGUE, AS IF FROM A HUNDRED MILES AWAY! WHAT IS IT? OH, YES! NO! I CAN NEVER SEE YOU! LEAVE, NOW! LEAVE THIS PLACE AND DO NOT RETURN! NO GOOD WILL COME OF IT! FROM THE MOMENT I WAS BORN, I WAS DOOMED TO SPEND MY LIFE TRYING TO DEFEAT THE DARK LORD, AND THOSE WHO LOVE AND CARE FOR ME WILL ONLY SHARE IN MY MISERABLE FATE!"

A group of morbidly curious students had formed in the hallway.

With a nudge from Hermione, Ron approached Harry cautiously. "Harry, we're… We're, uh, worried about you, mate."

"YOUR CONCERN WILL BRING NOTHING BUT MISERY UPON US BOTH! GO, I SAY! GO, NOW!" Harry began prodding them out of the compartment with the tip of his wand. Small red sparks shot out from it, singing Ron's robes.

"Seriously, guys, this is bizarre," Ginny said, noticing for the first time the broken light bulb, ball of lint, and fermented jar of pea mush. "Can we go?"

With one last pleading look at Harry, Ron and Hermione conceded defeat and left the compartment.

* * *

_Author's Note: I could never get more than one or two chapters into a fanfiction before now. (We are on_ Chapter 4_!) Probably, I took the whole thing too seriously and wanted to produce something undeniably, heart-stoppingly… Well, at least decent. (This is, by the way, a mistake that far too many fanfiction authors_ fail_ to make.) But it doesn't take too much effort or creativity to make fun of things. Sure, it's the easy path to travel… but it's more about the ends than the means, right? HELLO! THIS IS COSMONAUT-ME TO STARBOARD CONTROL. STARBOARD CONTROL, WE HAVE LOCATED A NICHE. REPEAT: WE HAVE FOUND A NICHE. (Okay… it has begun to be _way_ too much fun to type in all-caps. Also, why do the Russians get such a cooler name for their space frontiersmen than we do? I do not care who landed on the moon first. As far as I am concerned, the Russians totally won the space-race when they took "cosmo" and left us with "astro". Goddamnit. That really upsets me.)_


	5. In Which Our Young Hero Is Disillusioned

The moon was high in the sky by the time the Hogwarts Express arrived at its destination. Harry collected his allies and stored them away in his pockets. The fermented pea mush spilled out a little, but this only served to reassure Harry that a little part of one of his comrades would always be with him – in the form of a brownish-green, crusty stain on his best set of robes.

He boarded a thestral-drawn carriage with a group of alarmed second-year Ravenclaws. If he had not been too busy considering the best way of presenting to Dumbledore this new and grave information concerning Voldemort's plans for world domination, he would have heard comments like:

"What is that _smell_?"

"I don't know, but it's foul… and sort of alcoholic."

"I think it's coming from him."

"Potter? I do, too…"

"IT IS THE STENCH OF DEATH THAT ASSAULTS YOUR NOSTRILS!" Harry informed them, sinking back into his reverie as quickly as he had snapped out of it.

The Ravenclaws quaked with fear and scooted as far away from Harry as possible.

"What's wrong with him?" The one sitting closest to him whispered to her neighbour.

"I don't know," he said. "But I heard him yelling earlier, on the train."

"Really? About what?"

"I dunno… Something about cobwebs and the Dark Lord and misery."

"Er… do you want to switch seats?"

"No, I'm cool."

Harry ignored the stares of his classmates and teachers as he walked through the Great Hall, taking a seat at the far end of the Gryffindor table. Several times during the commencement feast, he tried to lock eyes with Dumbledore but never succeeded in catching the Headmaster's attention.

"We'll have to accost the old man after the feast, before he goes back to his rooms," Harry whispered into his robes.

The fourth-year next to him froze with her fork halfway to her mouth and willed herself not to look over.

At the other end of the table, Ron and Hermione were trying to explain to a curious Seamus and Dean why Harry was sitting so far away and alone, with messier-than-usual hair, a pasty, emaciated face, and occasionally muttering into his own chest.

"Um… well, I think he had a bad summer," Ron said vaguely.

"A bad summer?" Dean snorted. "He looks like he's cracked!"

Ginny kicked him under the table because it seemed like the thing to do. Silently, she agreed. As she stared down the table at Harry, an empty shell of the man-boy he once was, Ginny felt something hard rising in her throat, rendering it difficult to breath. Her eyes watered and her nose itched… She sneezed. 'That boy's nervous breakdown is really going to fuck up Gryffindor's Quidditch team,' she thought.

When the feast was over, and everyone was leaving for their separate dormitories, Ron and Hermione waited around for Harry, but he was not moving from his seat.

"Come on, you guys, he's not coming," Ginny called over her shoulder. She and Dean had got up to leave, hand-in-hand, as soon as everyone was dismissed.

"Is he going to sit there all night?" Hermione asked.

"Dumbledore won't let him," Ron said.

Hermione looked as if she were about to cry.

Ron thought this an excellent moment to do something which involved both physical contact and a show of manly fortitude. He put his arm around Hermione's shoulders and said, "We still have each other."

Only after sharing a deep sigh did Ron and Hermione followed behind the rest of their classmates.

The Great Hall was now completely devoid of students… except for Harry.

"Mr Potter?" Professor McGonagall called from the teachers' table. "Is there something you would like to discuss?"

"YES!" Harry jumped up and bounded across the room, screeching to a halt in front of Dumbledore. "HEADMASTER, THERE IS A MATTER THAT REQUIRES YOUR IMMEDIATE ATTENTION. IT CONCERNS…" Harry leaned in closer and beckoned for Dumbledore to do the same. He cupped his hand around his mouth and continued, "VOLDEMORT!"

Dumbledore's eardrum shot out of its snug little cavity and shattered into a million pieces on Harry's face.

"Perhaps we should continue this conversation in my office, Harry," Dumbledore suggested.

"YES, HEADMASTER, I-"

"The acoustics aren't so good in there," Dumbledore interrupted and proceeded to shut Harry up with a silencing charm.

At that point, unbeknownst to his colleagues, Snape experienced the most overwhelming orgasm of his adult life. (If any of the other teachers had been paying attention, they would have seen his habitual sneer spasm slightly and a few greasy hairs quiver.)

Dumbledore bid good night to the staff and led Harry to his office. Once inside, he sat behind his desk, steepled his fingers, and looked wise and ruminative. "What was it that you wanted to tell me, Harry?"

Harry flapped his jaw up and down rapidly, but no sound came out.

"Oh, yes!" Dumbledore laughed good-naturedly. "I almost forgot." He obtained a large glass jar tightly packed with human organs from one of the drawers of his desk, and fished out an eardrum. "And of course you'll be needing your voice back, too," he said, flicking his wand in Harry's general direction as he inserted the eardrum and stowed away the jar.

"HEADMASTER, I HAVE DISCOVERED A NEFARIOUS PLOY TO TAKE OVER THE SCHOOL CREATED BY NO OTHER THAN THAT DEPRAVED REPROBATE, RIDDLE!"

Dumbledore gestured for Harry to continue.

"IT WOULD SEEM THAT HE AND LUCIUS MALFOY HAVE PROCURED OR SOON WILL PROCURE LARGE AMOUNTS OF MIND-ALTERING DRUGS WITH WHICH TO MANIPULATE A LARGE PART OF THE STUDENT BODY!"

Dumbledore's hand shook as he reached for his lemon drops. "Tell me more, Harry. Regarding the drugs, that is."

"ALL THE INFORMATION IS HERE, HEADMASTER, IN THIS ENCODED LETTER TO LUCIUS MALFOY." Harry extracted a crumpled up piece of paper from his robes and handed it to Dumbledore.

Dumbledore stared at it for a moment. When he next spoke, his words were slow and measured. "Harry, how did you come to the conclusion that this is an encoded message?"

"RIDDLE LEFT IT BEHIND WHEN HE FLED FROM MY ROOM!" Harry informed the Headmaster impressively.

"Voldemort visited you, did he?"

"INDEED. AND THOUGH I CANNOT SAY THAT I CONQUERED HIM THIS TIME, MY ALLIES AND I CERTAINLY DID GET THE BETTER OF HIM IN BATTLE!"

"Your allies?"

"YES, THE CREATURES THAT LURK IN THE SHADOWS AND MAKE THEIR PRESENCE KNOWN ONLY WHEN THERE IS DIRE NEED FOR THEIR MILITARISTIC SERVICES."

After a moment's silence, Dumbledore spoke. "Harry, the piece of paper you have just given me is not a secret message from Voldemort. It is the list of school supplies that we send you every year," he said firmly, then added: "Did you purchase your school supplies?"

Harry stared at the Headmaster dumbly.

* * *

_Author's Note: Writing parodies is sort of fun! Alas, my friends, every rose has its thorn – I am obligated to read the story that I am making fun of! Have you ever been laughing hysterically and felt this overwhelming Hate taking over your entire body at the same time? If you have not, that is probably good because, now that I think about it, it sounds pretty fucking crazy. Conversely, it is also sort of bad, because I am sorry but I have no idea how to begin describing it to you._


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